“Don’t be stupid—any one of these dogs could be on top of you in two strides.”

“You said they wouldn’t kill us!”

“I said they don’t want to—I didn’t say you couldn’t talk them into it.”

“Then what do we do?”

“We wait.”

They didn’t have to wait long.

Soon they heard the sound of softly crunching footsteps in the distance. Two figures were slowly approaching, walking side by side, silhouetted against the moon; one was tall and one was short; one was a human form, and one was animal.

Biff swallowed hard. “The witch.”

“It’s about time.”

Nick adjusted his glasses and watched her as she approached. She was of medium height, with straight black hair that came almost to her waist, ending in a ragged razor cut at the ends. She kept her head down as she walked, causing her hair to hang in front of her like a veil, concealing her face. It was difficult to estimate her build; she wore loose-fitting clothing that draped over her like a white shroud, with billowy sleeves that covered the tips of her fingers and a long flowing skirt that came just to the tops of her bare feet.

Beside her was a fourth dog. It was smaller and more slender than the other dogs, but still of considerable size. It was a mottled gray color, with long tufts of fur on its chest and head and along the ridge of its back. It walked with an obvious limp, and as it came closer Nick could see why: The dog had only three legs. Its right foreleg had been severed cleanly at the shoulder, and though the dog had learned to compensate impressively, the rhythm of its stride was slightly broken.

The witch and her dog stopped in front of Nick without a word. She snapped her fingers and barely lifted one hand palm down; all four dogs immediately sat, never taking their eyes from Nick and Biff. The witch tipped her head to the left and raised it slowly; when she did, her hair parted slightly and one eye peered out at them from behind the silky black curtain. She looked Nick over carefully, then slowly lowered her head again, causing the eye to retreat back into the darkness.

Nick cleared his throat. “Look, I can explain all this—”

The witch snapped her fingers and lifted one thumb—all four dogs barked simultaneously, then stopped.

Nick got the message.

Now the witch stepped directly in front of the boy. She tipped her head to the right this time and raised it; an eye slowly appeared again, like a bottle floating up in the ocean at night. She looked him over from head to foot—at his youthful face, at his high school letter jacket emblazoned with the letter E, at his denim-covered legs that were trembling like the tines of a tuning fork.